


The Taco Joint

by accol



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Loud Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to this prompt:  <em>Imagine person A and B in a public setting, but no one sees them. Person A has a hand down Person B’s pants and person B has to try and keep quiet because though no one sees them, people are around the corner/nearby.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taco Joint

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks goes out to the Tumblr-based RD fandom for being pervy and persistent. Originally posted [here](http://accol.tumblr.com/post/44915046996/yunafire-thatcerealkiller-accol).
> 
> Based upon characters in _Reservoir Dogs_. No infringement intended.

“Oh, I… need a napkin,” Freddy stuttered, looking down at the giant drop of creamy green sauce that had slid from his taco.  He’d been devouring it like it was his last meal, half-aware that Mr. White was watching every bite.  

Mr. White chuckled, “You need more than a napkin, kid.  Let’s go.”

Freddy tried to swipe it off with a finger, then his fingernail, licking between wipes.  Still a splotch discolored his jeans.  

“I said, let’s go,” Mr. White said, pounding a palm on the roof of the car and looking back in through the driver’s window.  

Freddy followed him to the men’s room, this dingy thing along the side of the taco place.  Had to get the key from the guy behind the counter.  The fluorescent light inside was flickering.

“Here,” Mr. White said, pushing him inside and wetting a paper towel.  

Freddy dabbed at his jeans for a couple seconds before Mr. White made a fed up noise in his throat.  

“Jesus fucking Christ.  You never wash your own clothes?  Gimme that.”

And then Mr. White’s powerful hand was scrubbing at the front of Freddy’s pants.  It was way too close for just some guys having a taco.  Way too close, but Freddy didn’t pull away.  Instead he reached back to grab onto the lip of the sink to keep himself upright.  It meant his hips pushed forward… good thing the light was fucked, because his face was the color of sunburn.  

“Heh,” Mr. White chuckled again, his hand slowing to a more deliberate pace.  ”Looks like the sauce is out.”

Freddy nodded.

“You want me to stop, kid?”  

Freddy shook his head, but Mr. White withdrew his hand anyway.  For a horrible second, Freddy thought that was it.  A tease and then blue balls for dessert.  But Mr. White backed toward the door, locking it and never taking his eyes off Freddy.

“Ok then.  I won’t stop.”

Freddy tried to stay quiet, but what’s a guy supposed to do in a situation like this.  Not even the manager pounding on the door and threatening to call the cops could get him to shut the fuck up with Mr. White’s paw of a hand wrapped around him.


End file.
